


Point of View

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 09:14:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14713298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: They'd all gotten to know each other pretty well, and didn't figure on any major surprises.  Who would have thought that  who a person was, well, sometimes that could be just a point of view?  Now, a mission gone wildly wrong, a mask dropped in the heat of the moment, and the guys have to face the strong possibility that they aren't all going to get home.  When there's nothing left to do, sometimes you have to put your faith in the oddest of things.  And sometimes, truth can be just a point of view.





	Point of View

"I aint gonna get back, am I, Warden?" That low raspy voice was too calm, resigned, detached, the pale blue eyes only half-open, unfocused and shocky as they looked into Garrison's green ones.

"Hush, just lay still, let Actor finish working on you."

"Warden, . . .," Goniff swallowed with some difficulty, sighed softly and those blue eyes fluttered shut.

"You'll get back, Goniff. We've got that big dinner waiting for us down at the Cottage, remember. Just like she promised she'd make after we get back." Garrison's voice was low and husky, but his face was taut as he looked down at the still figure laying there in the corner of the barn, blood staining the straw underneath him. {"So much blood. And so still. He's hardly ever still, always moving, always fidgeting.}"

Actor's face was carefully impassive as he wrapped the wounds tightly, though wincing at the low groan that had elicited, then pulled the tunic and trouser leg gently back in place. "Try to rest," he urged in a soft voice, moving away to stand beside the leader of the team. He breathed, one breath after the other, trying to clear his head from the stench of blood, but there was just too much of it, on his hands and uniform, on the straw, on Garrison, far more on their wounded teammate.

He stood looking up at the bare rafters above them, "The others? Do you think they made it out? There was so much smoke, I couldn't see," Actor murmured.

"Looked like Chief made it to the forest line, I don't know about Casino. There was no time to look. I was trying to pull him out of there." Garrison moved closer to the small blond man laying in that gory pile of straw, leaned his back against the barn wall and went down into a squat. Running his hands through his smoke-grimed hair, he leaned his head back and sighed, thinking back to the moment when it all went wrong. That any of them had gotten away, had gotten this far was a miracle.

He took the lit cigarette Actor handed down to him with a nod, "thanks", and raised his head to ask what he'd put off asking, what he'd been afraid to ask, "Actor?" jerking his head toward their pickpocket, the one who'd taken those bullets to give the rest of them a chance for escape.

Actor's face gave a painful twitch, and he blinked rapidly before giving a tiny shrug, "I don't know. Perhaps, if there were a doctor here, now; a hospital. Perhaps. As it is . . . He has lost a great deal of blood, Craig," and the two men just looked at each other, and focused on smoking those cigarettes like that was all that was left for them to do.

And, perhaps, it was. Til the morning, when one of them would make his way to the rendezvous point to wait for the others, hoping they'd come. {"One of us, no, me; Actor has to stay with Goniff; he has the training, can do more. God knows I don't want to leave him, either of them, but someone has to go. They MIGHT have made it, just maybe. One of us has to go, one stay, unless . . ."} and his jaw tightened and he glanced over at that motionless figure on the floor.

No, he refused to consider the alternative, what would free them both to make that trip, not yet. Not yet. He crushed out the cigarette, got to his feet and moved over, threw some clean straw down and sat, knees bent with his arms curled around them, watching. Actor watched, knowing there was nothing he could do, eventually dozed off.

He woke to the sound of a voice, whispering low, "and you don't want to disappoint her, not after her going to all that effort. Missed that last big celebration day she told us about, her being away on assignment, then us right after that. Don't remember what she called it, do you? No? Well, we can ask her when we get back. She was really looking forward to that, all of us getting together; said the date didn't matter, we'd just have that celebration dinner in our own time. Didn't you tell me she was trying to get something special from her sister's farm, maybe a roast even? You don't want to miss that. Just think, a big juicy roast, potatoes and onions and all the rest. Nice thick gravy. Yorkshire pudding, maybe. Remember her telling us about the first time she made that, how she was ready to toss it all out to the birds, til a friend laughed at her, told her that's how it's supposed to look! All sorts of things from her garden, from the pantry. Bet she'll open up a jar of that blackberry jam we all liked so much, or maybe that cherry butter; think that might go better? Probably be baking up a storm, too, making all your favorites. You know how she loves to bake for you."

"Sometimes I think she should just adopt you and have done with it. Can you imagine Major Richards' face? Of course, her being a few years younger than you, she'd have to lie about her age, I guess, maybe have Actor work with her on a good disguise, grey hair, glasses. Come on, Goniff, breathe. Don't make me tell her you decided to skip out on the dinner; you know how she gets. She'd lambast me good for letting you get away with it, you know. And she'll come chasing after you to give you a piece of her mind, that's for sure, and when she finds you, well, then you'll really be in trouble."

The voice choked, trailed off, and Actor lay there in the darkness, wishing they were all sitting around that table in her kitchen, eating her fine dinner, hearing Goniff and Casino argue about something totally inconsequential, Chief trying to keep a smile back like it was a sign of weakness to let it all the way out, not that he could quarrel with that since he did much the same, Garrison just sitting back and laughing at them, her standing there sharing her home, offering a warmth and comfort and acceptance they were unaccustomed to, all with a wondering look of gratitude, like they were giving her a gift. He'd give a great deal for that to happen.

{"But You don't make bargains like that, do You? Pity,"} his mind going to those left behind, either at that scene of carnage or back in Brandonshire, or elsewhere. {"Truly a pity."} 

**

"Shit!" It was all he had breath left to say, and that pretty well said it all anyway. It seemed like they'd been running, moving for hours; he didn't have any idea where to, in the beginning, just away from that hail of bullets, that German patrol ready to blow their brains out. They'd become part of that patrol a couple of hours earlier, joining forces after the patrol had discovered the five, all dressed in German uniforms, casually waltzing away from that last job. Well, it wasn't like they'd volunteered or anything, but the officer had been pretty insistent, him being down a few men, and it seemed a good way to get through all the checkpoints. They'd been close to where they needed to head north to reach the exit point, ready to make their move to break away.

They'd already moved into position, Chief and Casino to the right edge, Actor and Garrison to the left, Goniff to the rear, saw that little hand-flick from the Warden, took their first sideways steps, when that second jeep had roared up, just like out of nowhere, that Kraut officer yelling something, waving his pistol in the air. There hadn't even been enough time to pull back, wait for another time; the two rear guards had seen something, who knows what, had their guns already coming up, ready to fire. Casino had seen Garrison give the signal to keep moving, not like there'd been much of a choice by then, these guys not being the sort to take prisoners, they'd all heard them bragging about that, and he had made a run for it, him and the Indian.

He saw it in his mind again, that moment when that damned fool little Limey's eyes had gone wide, when the small man realized it had all gone wrong, that it was a bust. The two Germans hadn't focused on Goniff who'd been trudging along at the rear pretty close to them; he had managed to make himself seem pretty inconsequential as usual, but Garrison and Actor they HAD spotted for sure, probably the others as well. And, instead of doing what any sensible man would have done when those two yanked their guns out, started to fire, which was duck and roll and try to get the hell out of the way, the little Limey, that self-proclaimed miserable little coward had thrown himself at the two Germans, at enough of a slant to put himself between both of those guns and his team mates, his body bucking from the impact of the bullets.

The spray of gunfire from the others had pinned them down then, him and the Indian, and they returned fire, desperate to get back there, but then there was a huge flash and smoke and the smell of burning oil and gasoline as the first jeep blew skyhigh, and the concussion from the explosion stunned them senseless. When they made their way back, there was no one to be found. Oh, they found tracks, sure, but with them all wearing German uniforms, German boots, who could tell if any of them were their team mates. There was blood, plenty of it, but there was no more telling who that belonged to than who those boot tracks belonged to. They looked, of course, but found nothing that would have told them anything. The second jeep was gone, and there were no bodies left behind, either their team mates or German.

Grimly, they'd done what they'd been ordered to do if this ever happened, made their way to the rendezvous point, now were waiting for the appointed amount of time, then, if no one else showed up, they'd try to get out along the exit route that'd been set up. They didn't like it, but it was really all that there was left for them to do. Now, it was dark, and they huddled together staring off into the night, back to back, both for warmth and for protection, perhaps because of the unspoken need for a comforting touch.

Casino's whisper of a voice barely reached Chief's ears, "ya think they made it out?"

Silence, then "dont know. Actor was on the far side; he had the best chance. Warden, he was closer in; woulda had to plow through their perimeter."

Casino's voice, if anything, got lower, "and Goniff?"

Chief glanced back over his shoulder, "he was down, hit. Damned fool ran right into them, managed to take both of them off their feet, but they had their guns out, already aiming, firing. Couldn't a missed, he was right on top a them." Chief let out a soft breath, leaned his back more firmly into Casino's, tilted his head back to meet the dark one behind him, seeing the night sky shimmer above him. "Damn fool," he repeated, his voice tight, his throat even tighter.

Casino swallowed heavily, blinking his eyes rapidly, hating all that smoke in his hair and clothes that made them blur like that, "yeah, damn fool." They sat like that til right before dawn, taking turns dozing, thinking, wondering, remembering. 

"Garrison?" The bent old man in the worn jacket and trousers whispered in answer to Garrison's short two-one-two whistle.

"Yes, I'm Garrison. You're LaVere?" only to get a solemn shake of the grizzled head.

"Non. LaVere was taken by the Boche, more than a week ago. He is dead. I am Lucien, I have taken his place for now, until someone younger and stronger can do so. You are alone? Your men?"

Garrison's voice was strained, "we got separated. I left two hidden back about a couple of hours; I was hoping the other two had made it this far."

"Not yet." The Resistance leader frowned, "you left two behind; why did you not come together?" suspicion now evident on his face.

Garrison's face told its own story, "one is wounded, badly. Actor stayed to care for him. Do you have a doctor, a medic, anyone who could . . ."

A sudden upswing of a hand from Lucien made Garrison stop talking, jerk his head around, trying to figure out what had alerted the old man. A young man, hardly more than a boy, poked his head out of the underbrush, "Grandpere, a moment, s'il vous plait," and the man moved aside to whisper back and forth, while Craig Garrison waited impatiently.

Lucien turned and walked back slowly, "Garrison, I believe we have something that belongs to you," with a gentle smile coming to his weathered face. Garrison's eyes blazed with hope, and his breath quickened. "Do you now!"

He was out of cigarettes, which was probably just as well. They made his throat dry, and it was already parched from talking, talking unceasingly. Well, it had started out dry in the first place, when, after Craig had left on the possibly, most probably futile mission, he'd taken another look at the slender blond laying there in that blood-soaked uniform, at best only half-conscious and that only part of the time, noted the clammy skin, the indescribable pallor, the depressed breathing, the narrow slit of his lids showing just a glimpse of those pale blue eyes. But all the talking, yes, it had finished the job, his once rich tones hardly more than strained whispers.

At first he had talked about wonderful places he had been, beautiful women he had known and loved, great cons he had played. Then, looking again at the silent figure laying next to him, feeling him drift farther and farther away, he remembered Garrison's words from earlier, how the talk of food drew the slight Englishman's attention; food plus the mention of the very outre redheaded contract agent down at the Cottage, well, that cemented it. Remembering that made him realize he was speaking of the wrong things if he wanted to capture his teammate's attention, somehow pull him back from wherever he was roaming, too far away from where he needed to be if he was to have any chance to survive.

Now, with a deep and sincere affection for the cheeky little man he had truly not before realized was within him, Actor talked about great dinners of amazing splendor he had attended, "twelve courses at that one at the Doge's palace; even you could not have eaten all that was served to each of us, Goniff," and simple meals of outstanding excellence he'd experienced in odd places, "a tiny village, not even a tavern, but at one cottage there was a small table and chairs placed outside under the front window, and the old man who lived there served us sausage he had made himself, and eggs from his sister's hens, and bread baked by his wife, and I have never made a finer meal".

He talked about mountain lakes where the water was of unbelievable purity and sweetness, and tart berries grew thick on bushes along the shore, where you were free to pick handful after handful for your pleasure, sitting in sweet and fragrant grasses to eat them, letting the juices stain your lips. He talked about fine wines, potent liquors, aromatic liqueurs tasting of the most intense essences. "Absinthe has a certain reputation, of course, as one of the most dangerous and the most exotic, and peach schnapps one of the more common, but there are far more. Chambord for the flavor of raspberries, Creme de Violette for violets, Creme Yvette for violets plus the allure of vanilla, Campari for the taste of bitter orange. I think Meghada has a fondness for that one. She told me she found Cointreau, which is also of the orange, to be a bit sweet for her taste. Well, she has never shown any great liking for sweets, has she, not in any form. That is surprising, as she does such an excellent job of preparing them. I think you inspire her in that regard somehow, not that I can complain since we all reap the benefit while she seeks to please you."

"I rather like Garrison's notion of her adopting you, regardless of the complications; think how that would improve our menu!" He talked of champagnes, reminding Goniff of Meghada's obscene description, 'tastes like cat piss smells, Actor; don't understand how you can drink it!', how each of them had shuddered at the other's barbarity; "I admit she has fine taste in much else, but there, ah, no." He thought he heard just a faint sound of amusement from the slight Englishman at that, and found that encouraging.

He talked of the differences between English, Irish and German beers, even about a mild-tasting clear brew in a tiny village somewhere in Scandanavia that had almost killed him. "It made me think of Meghada's description of her mother's honey mead, remember? She said her father teased that she must make it with the honey from killer bees and include the stingers in the mix, so fierce is the result. I was curious, I must admit, but am almost fearful to ask to try that. I had never had a hangover last a full week before, and I sincerely do not want one ever again."

And he had talked himself almost into a trance, enough that that raspy whispered voice almost caused him to tip over from his perch on that overturned bucket. "Blimey, Actor. Dont you ever give it a rest??! Can't sleep a wink with you nattering on like that."

And while that look of absolute joy was quickly shielded, the matching joyful "Goniff!!" stifled almost at the moment of its uttering, and Actor's usual more aristocratic calm detachment took over once again, still, it had been there long enough for the Englishman to see it and understand, and long enough for a slightly shy smile to flash across that pale and exhausted face.

"Sides, you're making me 'ungry. Don't suppose you 'ave anything tucked away?"

And Actor let the mask slip once again, when a little laugh broke out, "only you would think of food at a time like this, Goniff."

The reply was raspy, strained, but from someone who was back in the real world now, not drifting somewhere untethered, "ME? Just who's been sitting 'ere telling me about all those fine . . ." Actor whirled around at the cracking of a branch outside, motioning Goniff to stay still.

Then, out of nowhere, that whistle, the signal, and then, they were together again, all of them. All of them plus Lucien and three of his men, including a doctor, along with a medicine bag and a rolled up stretcher, and Actor sunk back to sit against the barn wall, throat afire, suddenly so tired he could hardly breathe.

{"Maybe, just maybe,"} thinking of that kitchen table laden with food, everyone's face within his view, warmth surrounding them. His eyes were moist, and Garrison looked at him questioningly, wondering just what had happened in his absence.

The call had made by one of the Clan Friends inside HQ, not made from inside the building, but from a tiny tea room during lunch break. It had been a very difficult one for Joyce to make, hard news to relay, and she'd dreaded the reaction from the Dragon. When the call was over, she stood there staring at the receiver in her hand, shook her head, and slowly hung up the phone.

"Will you have something, miss?" the motherly waitress asked her.

She swallowed heavily, "I don't suppose you have something to drink. Had just a bit of a shock, I did," and the kindly woman had to admit it truly looked that way from the pretty brunette's face; the young woman had looked upset, sad, apprehensive when she'd walked in, now it was as if the floor had opened up underneath her, leaving her suspended in midair.

"We're not allowed to serve here, not for money, you know, haven't the licenses." She looked again, and reached out a hand to lay it on the young woman's arm, "but, just you sit down here, back in the corner, out of sight for a moment. If you've the ready, I'll send my Davie round to the pub; he'll bring you back a drop. Whiskey do?"

And soon young tow-headed Davie came rushing back with a brimming shot of whiskey, being ever so careful to not spill any. Joyce gave him a shaky smile, and a coin, and he grinned at her gleefully, "anytime, miss, anytime at all," looking down at that coin and rubbing it between his fingers.

"Now, you'll take a bite to eat with that, yes? Don't want to be putting whisky in an empty stomach with nothing to follow, especially not if you've had a shock," and the whiskey was soon being sipped in between bites of a toasted cheese sandwich and crisp pickle chips, and a hot cup of tea to follow.

Her thoughts were coming fast and furious - {"Knew there was something going on, her making sure we knew to keep tabs on Garrison's team, each of the men, what was going on, what was planned, any interference, any monkey business from HQ. Knew she had some concern, some interest. But this? Never would have guessed this, not from the Dragon. KNOWS at least one of them is alive, she does, the Englishman. And how? Well, the only way she could know, of course, and never thought I'd see the day! Well, I'll pass the word to the others, they can keep their eyes and ears open for chatter, anything coming down the line, be ready to step if if we're needed. Wasn't too happy about HQ writing them off, none of us, though the reports didn't leave much doubt they were all killed on that last mission; still, the teams have come back before after we'd thought them lost. Major Kingston, now, him looking to hurry and get the files closed, the Mansion cleared out til needed again; that didn't go over very well with her, no, not at all. Well, he is a smug, supercilious bastard at the best of times, and meddling in things that he has no real reason to. I expect she'll take steps to slow that down for awhile, though don't know how. She has her ways, will let us know if we can help. Lands, I hope they DO make it back; if they don't, or at least if THAT one doesn't, we'll lose her too; she'll follow on the Long Road, certain enough. Then, well, we'll do what we can for the others; tis only right. Never thought to see the day! The Dragon! Truly the Sweet Mother has smiled on her! On her and on the Clan!"}

She sighed deeply, finished her drink and her meal, sincerely thanked the kind woman who'd taken such good care of her, left a tip that left the woman staring after her in disbelief, and headed back to HQ, there to quietly pass the word among the others scattered here and there among the halls and warrens of military and governmental operations. "Keep watch; he is one of ours now, Family, through the Dragon, by Erdu's blessings, though yet unaware. The others, they are also under her wing."

And while there would be considerable amazement, there would also be firm nods of understanding, of agreement of what needed to be done. After all, that's what Clan O'Donnell, Theaghlach Cara, Family and Friends was all about, doing what needed to be done for each other. Century after century it had been so, and, Erdu willing, for many centuries more would it be so.

Major Kingston was having an annoying day, just another one in a stream of them. It should have a simple matter, closing the file on Garrison and that bunch of misfit convicts he led. Should have been a simple matter, getting the guards at the Brandonshire mansion reassigned, the place cleaned out and closed up til it was needed again. But somehow, what should have been so simple hadn't been. Even the letters to the next of kin had been delayed for some unknown reason, though only Garrison and two of the men had anyone listed as that. Their personnel files were still listed as 'Active', though he'd sent over the memo to have that changed.

He'd ask about the progress on the various things that needed to be done about the Mansion reassignments and closure, and be told it was stalled because of some clerical error; he'd storm around, and that would be cleared up, supposedly. Next time he'd ask, well, it was all stuck at some different point, some obscure regulation slowing the way. He'd even gotten some impertinent stares and a few questions as to why he was so involved; he wasn't their Handler, they hadn't been running in his string, after all, not this mission or any other. In fact, they hadn't heard he was working direct with Special Forces at all, just some occasional contact, nor with the Ministry handling the use of private properties like the Mansion. Had they been mistaken about that? Had he some special authorization? They just weren't sure they could proceed on his orders alone. His orders would need to be countersigned by someone in their own chain of command, surely? " No disrespect intended, of course, sir, but . . ."

More delays, some outright avoidance by those he was being told he needed to see to get things accomplished. He didn't like the questions, or the odd looks, or the very polite responses to his orders coupled with the equally polite explanations as to why they were unable to comply, and most of all he didn't like the delay in getting this whole mess brushed aside, forgotten. He was about to the point of requesting an interview with Colonel Ledderly so everyone could stop wasting time on a team that should never have been formed in the first place (never once thinking that it was he who was wasting all that time trying to accomplish his private goals), when he heard the news racing about the halls devoted to Special Forces.

"They're back! Each and every one of them, though one of them took a lot of damage."

"You'll never believe it! Those guys must have a rabbit's foot in each pocket and eat four leaf clovers every morning for breakfast!"

"Whole damned place thinking they're dead and there they were, walking in just as cocky as usual, spread out, taking up the whole hallway. Well, Garrison and three of them; one's over in the hospital, but still, it was one hell of a sight!"

"They did it, pulled it off, bless their conniving, obstinate, mangy hides! Got the damned job done, and made it back."

"Better not let anyone try to brace Garrison about them being late getting back; I think he'd lay them in the dust. He's really wound up! Came real close to losing one of his men, hell, maybe the whole team. Wasn't all that happy about finding out they'd been written off that fast, that's for sure!"

He stood still, frozen in his tracks, his face filled with shock and dismay. His thoughts weren't nearly so congratulatory as the words being exclaimed around him - {"Surely not! It was over, they were gone. Not brace Garrison on being overdue? The hell with that! Wouldn't be surprised if they weren't up to some shenanigans over there, God knows what! Better believe I'll brace him on it!"}

And the busy people around him just moved on their way, circling around him, wondering just what made him look like that, like someone had just punched him in the gut; well, except for a couple who knew quite well, and were working very hard to restrain their inner gloating, the temptation to sneer in his face if not worse.

Perhaps luckily for Major Kingston, he was called off to take care of some business, although when he got to where he'd been summoned, got only a blank stare and a polite but firm, "no, sir, no one called for you. Perhaps you misunderstood? There was no mention of anyone needing you at all, not for anything," and there was just something in the young woman's words, her eyes that he wasn't sure he liked, some hint of disdain, some trace of contempt. He glanced at her nametag, 'Joyce A. McClaine', and thought he just might mention her impertinence to her superior, til he looked at the door behind her and read the name plate, 'Colonel Alfred J. McClaine', and decided perhaps he'd overlook it this time.

By the time he was able to focus on Garrison and his team again, they had gone, headed back to the Mansion, which was waiting for them just as they'd left it. Even their little pickpocket couldn't be found when Kingston had gone looking over at the hospital, even after calling and getting confirmation he was still there, thinking to get some answers from someone who couldn't just walk away from him. When Kingston demanded answers from the hospital staff he was told, with a brusque shrug, "someone transferred him out. Just as well, we needed the bed."

When Kingston demanded answers from Major Richards, all he got was a somewhat distracted, "he's accounted for, Major, don't fret; needed to free up that bed at the hospital, so they shunted him off somewhere else. Don't worry about it; he won't be allowed to get up to any mischief, not that he's able right now." And, with Kevin Richards actually BEING a Special Forces Handler, well, Kingston was at a dead end, at least for then.

In actuality Kevin Richards didn't know quite where Goniff was, but he'd been reassured by all the right people that he didn't really need to know. Maybe those weren't military, those right people, but still people he trusted. One thing Kevin Richards had learned was that sometimes, there really was a 'need to know' list, but sometimes he just wasn't on that list. He accepted that this was just one of those times. He knew there had been some Clan involvement; he hadn't known of any prior connection but with one of the Clan centered out of Brandonshire, it seemed inevitable, of course. He hoped it was rather a tenuous connection; it would really be better for everyone if that was the case. At least, he knew it would be better for his nervous system.

**  
He'd been drowsing again, just nodding off after that last round of enforced misery they liked to call medical care around the military hospital; at least that was his considered opinion. Sponge baths with icy water, food that even to him seemed hardly worth the effort, and as for the rest, well . . .

Of course, he wasn't in a good frame of mind; the guys were gone, headed back to the Mansion, and he was stuck here. He didn't like that, didn't trust any of them around here, though that last nurse had been kinda pretty. He wasn't too happy about what he'd overheard her saying, either, that Major Kingston was coming by to spend some time, get some more details about that last mission. They weren't reporting to Major Kingston, not that he knew, and he wasn't sure about much, but he did know just what Kingston thought of the team.

He muttered to himself, "Ruddy 'ell, aint that gonna be fun, now! Dont know what I'm supposed to tell 'im and what not; whatever I say, aint gonna be good for me and the guys, sure of that! 'E'll twist it any way 'e wants!" He was particularly worried about talking inadvertently; he knew quite well what the right dose of sedative could do, had seen Garrison use that trick to get information out of a reluctant German more than once, and he didn't want to go spilling the guys' secrets.

He heard the faint knock on the door, saw it start to swing open, and suppressed a groan. Then, that look of apprehension and dread changed to one of surprise, relief, and welcome. The low words coming from his visitor changed his expression even more, totally to one of eager pleasure. "Hey, Goniff. You ready to get out of this place, maybe to someplace a little more friendly?"

And he heaved a huge sigh of relief, "Aint I just, Patrick! And fore that Major Kingston shows up; 'eard I'm on 'is rounds today, coming to 'ave a little talk, supposedly. Cant's see any good coming from that!"

Patrick O'Donnell nodded, "so we heard. Here, let's get you into this wheelchair and out of here. Ooh, easy now, don't rush it! Yes, I guess your head is spinning now. Let me do the rest. Blankets all tucked in? Alright, careful, here we go."

And although it was tiring as hell, the move was accomplished, Patrick somehow having all the right pieces of paper (or what at least purported to be the right pieces of paper) to get past all the checkpoints, and now Goniff leaned back against the pillows in that small private room in that special closed off area in that small private hospital where several of the Clan Family and Friends devoted much of their time trying to help the sick and injured. He'd been checked over, bandages replaced, new medicines prescribed and given, and he'd been promised a hot meal soon. He was more than ready, and when the door opened on that figure bearing a tray with soup and bread and a cup of tea, he was thrilled.

Oh, the soup smelled good, sure, but that wide grin that came to his face? That was mostly because of the person carrying in that tray. "'Gaida! W'at are you doing 'ere??! Coo, it's good to see you!" He wasn't totally together, that was obvious, the painkillers still befuddling his mind, but his welcome, his relief was sincere.

And she chuckled at him, smiled and came farther into the room, "ei, laddie, with the guys back at the Mansion, seemed like you could use some company. I've no orders to head out right away, so I thought I'd come up to lend a hand. They're telling me you're hungry. Well, and whenever were you not? Soup and bread for now, not as good as mine, for true, but quite acceptable. Something more substantial once we know that's going to set well. You know how your stomach is." She sat the tray on the bedside table, "now just let's get you comfortable. Can you handle the spoon yourself, or would you like some help?" And he was soon eased into a better position, she was in place seated sideways on the bed facing him, bowl and spoon in her hand.

Patrick and James were in the open doorway watching, the other two totally oblivious to their presence. They both snickered and pulled the door closed, added a Do Not Disturb sign to the handle.

"You sure that's your sister, Patrick? Hell, how many years have I known her? I've heard her cussing, I've heard her yelling. I've heard her snapping, hissing, I've even heard her roaring a time or two. First time I've ever heard her coo'ing. Hell, he's a bloody magician, turned the Dragon into a Dove!"

"Maybe in there, with him, James my love. But if she comes up against that Major Kingston, it's not some coo'ing dove he'll be facing, I can guarantee that. More like the old expression, going up in flames!." And they laughed and went on about their business.

**

He looked around the deeply ravaged table with a wide smile of complete satisfaction, thinking of all it had held. A roast of beef like he hadn't seen in seems like forever, such not being all so common in his life even before the war and prison and all. Individual yellow Yorkshire puddings spilling over with a rich dark gravy. Roasted mixed veg and a huge bowl of mashed potatoes, heavy with butter and cream and fresh ground pepper. A big pan of bitter greens with bits of bacon, sauteed in oil, spicy with garlic and hot pepper, something they'd been told by their hostess was 'very strengthening, very healing', something they all looked at with great wariness, and he'd been surprised, when she'd begged him prettily to at least try them, she'd made them especially for him, that they actually tasted ruddy good too, and he'd dug in enthusiastically enough the others had followed suit, and found themselves not displeased at all with the flavor; that pan was empty, now, scraped clean. There had been hot yeasty rolls, fresh churned butter, and a big round of herbed cream cheese. They'd started with a hot and flavorful tomato soup, not all smoothed out, but with lots of big chunks left in it, with green onion chopped on top. He'd not tasted it done like that before, but he'd not mind it coming to the table again, not at all!

They'd filled their plates in here, sitting around on the floor and chairs in the sitting room; well, everyone else had, he was still using that cane and perched in one of the big easy chairs, and Meghada had filled his plate for him, first time, and the second, though after that she'd laughed and suggested he save some room for what was waiting in the library (though she'd given in and brought him just a little more).

And that little library? Well, the desk was cleared off and even one of the shelves from the bookcases along the wall, all filled with stuff for afters, another shelf holding saucers and napkins and all the rest, the books all piled casually in a far corner. He'd made his way in there earlier before they sat down to dinner, slowly and carefully as he still wasn't moving too good, just to have a look-see (and maybe see if something just reached out to his tingling fingers), before Garrison had nabbed him and escorted him right back out again, chiding him about spoiling his appetite, like that was going to be happening! Well, never had before, had it? Sweet biscuits, little square cakes slick with frosting, little pastry things he'd not seen before, some dark and syrupy, oozing with nuts and honey and raisins, some puffy things with drizzles of icing across the top, and more; two kinds of pie; he knew he'd seen a berry one, maybe a cherry too, and he could have sworn that there was a plate of sponge cakes. Maybe that was what that big pitcher of heavy cream was for in the cold-box! He hoped so, that would be real nice, maybe with some of that home-made jam she had in the pantry, or maybe some treacle for on top.

Garrison stood at the kitchen door watching him stand there, leaning heavily on that cane, everyone else out in the garden laughing and talking.

"You doing okay, Goniff? Need some help?" His voice was low, affectionate.

"Ah, no, Warden. Just looking. Beautiful sight, wasn't it! Says she wants to clear some of this away before we start on the sweet things, but won't be long now. Ruddy nice of 'er sister to send along that roast, wasn't it? 'Gaida says she had the choice of a lot of little stuff instead, game birds and such, but she thought this would go down best."

He got a guilty little frown and he lowered his voice, "think maybe we've just finished off what was meant to last 'er for a good long time, Warden."

Garrison looked over that table, seeing that the young woman wouldn't have much in the way of leftovers to deal with, nodding, "I imagine so, Goniff. But it's something she wanted to do. Had it in the planning even before that last mission, and after that, well, I think this is in the way of a special celebration, us all being here safe and reasonably sound. Just enjoy it, like she meant you to; it probably won't happen again for quite some time, you know."

Meghada dashed in from where she was tying on a fresh apron, having bespattered her other one considerably. "You two are looking awful serious. Is something amiss?"

"No, 'Gaida, just saying 'ow grand this all was."

"It certainly was, Meghada. You know, Sergeant Major Rawlins has been talking about a garden patch to help stretch things. You said those greens are easy and quick to grow and really give a lot? If you don't mind, I'll have him come talk to you about what might be possible, that, maybe some other things that might work? Maybe you can share some recipes and all?"

"Of course. They're easy enough, certainly, the greens. There's lots shy away from them, as they need to be fixed right to be really tasty, harvested at the right time, but I've several good recipes. Mother always said they were healthy and invigorating, and she had ways to use them for side dishes and soups, even a couple of main dishes. We always had them on the table several times a week during the main season, and they can be made to grow even through the winter with just a little care. Really brightened up those winter meals, they did. And there's more that take little time, little care that might spruce up your table plenty."

Casino stuck his head in the door, "hey, we about ready to dive into that sweet stuff yet?" getting a laugh at someone besides Goniff to be the first to ask that question. Meghada saw those eager faces and decided to postpone clearing all this away; nothing would ruin and there'd be time enough later, when these, her friends, together with him who'd captured the Dragon's heart, left to go back to that big house up the road.

"Aye, ready enough. Fetch everyone else in, saucers, napkins, forks and all are all set up, and the coffee urn fired up as well. I'll get the cream and jam for the sponge cakes," and Goniff grinned in satisfaction that he'd been right in what she'd intended there.

"And you, laddie, you find a spot and get settled. I can either take your order or surprise you, whichever you like," only to have the whole team roar at his eager response, "just some of everything, 'Gaida, that'd be fine."

Actor shook his head, remarking in an undertone to Craig Garrison, "I did just sit and watch him devour a huge dinner, didn't I? With seconds of everything?"

"Oh, you did, Actor. NOW you get the pleasure of sitting and watching him devour a huge pile of desserts."

Actor got a thoughtful look and then a rather odd smile, "and a pleasure it will truly be, Craig," and Garrison knew exactly what Actor was remembering, that still body on a pile of blood-soaked straw, and nodded back, "yes, it will be, won't it."

A yell from the next room, "Hey, guys, better get in here fore she dishes it all up for the little Limey! I don't even know what half this stuff is, but it looks great! Hey, Meghada, what are those sticky things with the nuts and raisins spilling outta the sides, huh? And what's that big cream pitcher and jam jar for?"

Later, in the Common Room, glass of whiskey in his hand, Actor asked quietly, "have you talked to him, about him stepping between, saving your life, probably saving all our lives?"

Garrison shook his head, not in denial but in frustrated amusement, "he says he didn't. Says he got scared and stumbled and just sort of fell into them; nothing he'd planned. Just an accident, him being clumsy like usual. Laughed at me for thinking a coward like him would do something like that on purpose." Both men had heard Casino and Chief's story, knew what they themselves had seen, heard. Silence.

"And you believe him?" Actor asked in a strictly neutral voice. Garrison responded emphatically, "HELL NO!" and Actor snorted in amusement. "I would hope not." And while they both wondered at what would make a man deny such a well-intended action, they didn't wonder at him, that he had done what he felt was necessary to protect them. While they didn't understand him, they were beginning to realize and accept at least part of who, of what he was.

He was back, he was where he could be tended and let his body and mind heal. They were back. That let her own mind settle, at least somewhat, let the fire ease back to a simmer now. It had made her feel unbelievable rich to be able to welcome them, feed him, the others today. To cherish him as she wanted to. Well, not totally as she wanted to, but partly, anyway. She'd been very careful in how much she showed. For now, that would have to be enough.

Maybe, if they were truly blessed, there would be time enough for more. If not, well, there was the next life, or the one thereafter, or the one after that. She could be patient, now that she knew he existed, the one whose spirit, whose essence was a match for her Dragon. She'd been taught that was rare, even more rare than the existance of a Dragon herself. She had truly never expected this, but now, now she could wait, if need be. Follow him down one Long Road after another, as long as it took. But she would fight for him now, in this life, for him and his brothers, with all that dwelt within her, and she would begrudge him nothing of the cost. He was her dearest treasure, them his brothers and thus part of her treasure trove, and to a Dragon, well, there was nothing more valuable, more valued. There were those who mocked that designation, that name; if they were very lucky, they would never find out just what that name really meant, never feel the Dragon's Fire. She curled to one side in that empty bed, gold-brown eyes shimmering, glittering in the darkness, and thought on him who meant so much to her, and slept. For now, that was all she could do. For now, it was enough.


End file.
